


Anything You Want, Any Way You Like

by K_iddo



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Micah Bell is dirty, Romance, Tent Sex, This whole fic is a sin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2020-01-07 00:16:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18399260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_iddo/pseuds/K_iddo
Summary: Elizabeth hasn't managed to get much of a read on Micah since joining the gang, they've spoken little and she has avoided his antagonism. It's why she's so surprised when, at Sean's homecoming party, he asks her to dance.Elizabeth wonders if she looks visibly taken aback by the request; it’s mostly the uncertainty in his voice, usually, he’s cocksure, irritatingly obnoxious, so she isn’t sure if he’s making a show of nervously asking her to dance.





	1. Welcome Home Party

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, I hate Micah as much of the rest of us, but I love to give villains a bit of a soft side, I just can't help it. 
> 
> I'm ruminating on a John Marston/OFC fic that I'm trying to get clear in my mind, so this is kind of a little exercise to get me into writing in this world. 
> 
> Warning for Micah being a jerk (but also being made to apologise for being a jerk).

Sean’s welcome home party did not take long to get rowdy: when Javier and John had returned from god knows where with a wagon full of beer and whiskey, the girls had all covered their faces and shook their heads, knowing full well what happened to this camp when there was enough booze involved.  Still, it was difficult not to get into the spirit of it all, with Dutch’s gramophone playing some jaunty tune on one end of camp, and a group singing along to Javier’s guitar around the fire at another. 

So Elizabeth is feeling particularly chipper, sitting by her tent with Karen and Mary-Beth, nursing her glass of whiskey despite Karen’s attempts to up end it down her throat so she takes a bigger drink. She had been by the fire, and still feels a little too hot in the cheeks from it, so the whiskey is absolutely not helping. Javier is playing along to a little rendition of Ring Dang Doo, which Elizabeth can absolutely guarantee will echo round her head to distraction tomorrow.

“I see either of you even reach for a book tonight I’m throwin’ it on the fire.” Karen warns, already drunker than the rest of them, and Mary-Beth and Elizabeth look at each other with an amused eye roll.

“You throw any of my books on the fire, _I’m_ calling Sean over and telling him that you’ve been looking at him all night.” Elizabeth says.

“I have _not_ you dirty liar!” Karen slurs, but laughing along with the rest of them.

“You’re sweet on him, can see it from a mile away.” Elizabeth sips her whiskey and looks over to him; Sean is sitting with Arthur at a nearby table, they’re arm wrestling, the rest of the men are putting down bets. Elizabeth’s money would be on Arthur, no question.  
  
“He’s a fool.” Karen complains, looking over too as they laugh raucously.

“Aren’t they all?” Mary-Beth chimes, and they all laugh, girlishly. Elizabeth had been one of the first girls in the gang, and had liked the additions of more over the years: the male energy could be overwhelming, and the girls were easy to talk to, and at least bathed far more often. She and Karen find themselves together a lot; Elizabeth is a little quieter, she likes to read and spend time alone when she can, but they both have a similar toughness under the skin, years of living poor and rough. They both have a good talent for robbing, too, Karen has the powers of performance and Elizabeth the quickness of a skilled pickpocket. 

So wrapped up were they in their drinking and joking that they had not realised Micah had sloped over to them, hands in his pockets, hat low, looking a little sheepish.

“Oh, here we go.” Mary-Beth murmurs. Elizabeth regards him a moment: he hasn’t been around for long, but he has made it his business to attempt to push the buttons of everyone in camp, particularly the girls. So far, Elizabeth has mostly managed to avoid him, along with Tilly, but she prepares herself to counter an insult anyway as he approaches.

“Hello ladies.” He says, and tips his white hat.

“Hello.” Elizabeth says politely, because she sees no reason not to be polite just yet.

“I was just wondering if… O-On this most beautiful of nights, would you dance with me, Miss Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth wonders if she looks visibly taken aback by the request; it’s mostly the uncertainty in his voice, usually, he’s cocksure, irritatingly obnoxious, so she isn’t sure if he’s making a show of nervously asking her to dance. 

She can feel the eyes of the other girls on her, maybe hear Karen’s stifled snort, and probably, if he were asking any of _them_ , she would be looking in the same way. Micah is not a good man, she knows it, not an honourable one by any means, but right in that moment, as he holds out a hand to her, she’s having trouble seeing him as more than a little pathetic, lonely. Generally, she has a pretty good sense for when people are playing with her, but that that insecurity, it is written all over his face and though she knows it may be her own naivety, she pities him.

“Sure.” She says, softly, and pushes herself to stand, takes his hand and feels her chest clench a little at the look of genuine relief on his face. How long had he been preparing to ask her?

“What are you doin’, woman?” Karen asks, slurring a little more. “You know he’s just goin’ to try and cop a feel.”

“I would ask you to mind your own business.” He says, with a little bit less of the bite he normally has, pulling Elizabeth along behind him insistently, as if not wanting to give the girls the chance to change her mind. 

Most of the gang are paired up and dancing to Dutch’s gramophone, even Uncle with a chuckling, good natured Miss Grimshaw, so it helps with the pressure Elizabeth feels to be seen dancing with Micah. He rubs people the wrong way, and she is not attempting to make any kind of statement with this.

“Thank you.” Micah murmurs, not meeting her eye as he places a hand on her waist and takes her hand. “I know what a lot of you _think_ of me, here.”

“Well, it doesn’t come from thin air, you know?” She sways with him, and from this distance, she realises he has washed, which is a pleasant surprise. “You antagonise folks on purpose.”

“Not my fault if no one ‘round here has a sense of humour.” He says, but a little levity dances in his eyes to let her know he’s quite aware of what he does. It’s probably the whiskey, but it makes Elizabeth chuckle a little and shake her head. “Damn, you’ve got a real pretty smile, young lady.”

“You don’t have to give me lines, Mr Bell, I’m already dancing with you.” And she isn’t hating it, either. The sun is setting, Horseshoe looks as pretty as it can, and Micah is keeping his hands respectfully gentle and where they should be. She glances over his shoulder, sees John standing by the fire, beer up to his lips, watching close. It’s appreciated, but she isn’t feeling in danger, not right now.

“No lines, Miss, I say what’s on my mind, god’s honest truth, you got a smile could make men fall to their knees.” He says; she feels his voice rasping in his chest, and knows he is trying it on with her, and wishes desperately it was doing nothing for her at all. Blaming the whiskey sounds about right, instead of dwelling on the idea it might be _him_ making her stomach flutter. “And a body that could keep ‘em busy while they’re down there too.” 

Her cheeks flush red, and she has half a mind to push him away, like a proper lady should. However, she settles for an admonishing look. 

“You want me to keep dancing with you, you’ll stop that talk.” Elizabeth keeps her tone firm, but quiet: any of the boys got an inkling he was being fresh, he would find himself on his ass in no time.

His lip catches between his teeth, and she knows he is fighting with himself to push it just a little further. A man who likes getting a reaction out of people, she knows full well he would love to needle her to the point of slapping him round the face and making a scene. Something stops him though, she isn’t sure what, and he nods in concession.

“As you wish, my lady.” He says, the restraint dripping from his voice. “You’ll notice I haven’t copped a feel yet, though, which I mark as tremendous respectfulness in my book.”

“‘ _Yet_.’” She repeats, with an eye roll. 

“Well, the night is still young, I won’t count my chickens just yet.”

“I don’t plan on staying for more than one dance.” 

“C’mon, at least give me the _chance_ to talk you into a second song.” Gosh, he can be quite charming, and she does not consider herself to be easily charmed. “Don’t think I ever seen you blush before, sweetheart, you’re gonna give me a big head.” 

She fights off her smile becoming broader than she wants to show him.

“I’m gonna give you a black eye if you don’t stop teasing me.” She says, lightly, and gets a small, rough laugh in return. “I’ve been running with Dutch van der Linde for a long time, clever words don’t work on me.”

“Hmm,” he says with consideration, “if that’s the case then how about some dirty ones?” His voice stays low, because _he_ knows he’ll get a wrap round the ear or worse if anyone hears him talking to her like this.

She looks up at him, and, entirely unexpectedly, she feels a little heat unfurl low in her gut, a little pulse between her legs; it’s not that he’s so handsome, he isn’t, really, it’s the promise he holds, the potential of something... dangerous, and exciting, maybe a little primal. Elizabeth is an intelligent woman, she knows that she is, but she feels her logic being trumped by something much more basic, much easier to listen to, that little voice in the back of her head that says: _‘what would it be like to let this rough man who wants me so much just have me?’_

“Maybe.” She finally answers his question, in a way he clearly does not anticipate. “I think I’m ready for another drink, are you?”

It takes him a moment to answer, she can see him swallow deeply, maybe a little colour across his cheeks, though it is hard to make out in the dim light, and it feels good to have inspired that reaction in him. “Anything you want.” 

With a fresh bottle to share between them, they find themselves sitting on the floor behind John’s tent, leaning back against the tight canvas, too close for propriety, if such a thing were important in the camp of an outlaw gang. Neither are talking very much, taking sips out of the same bottle, and in her peripheral vision he keeps giving her these looks: like he’s trying to figure out what she’s doing here, with him. 

Honestly, Elizabeth isn’t sure either; she’s surprised herself by how suddenly comfortable she feels with him, how much she is genuinely enjoying his company. He’s funny, really, when he’s not making some filthy allusion to what he’d rather be doing with her right now. 

“You’re _different_ , aren’t ya?” He says, considering her, bottle hanging loosely from his hand where it rests on his bent knee. 

“What do you mean?” She asks, messing with the bottom of her long braid. 

“Not sure, not sure just yet. Can’t tell if you’re smarter than everyone else here or it’s just that you don’t yap on like the rest of them, so you _seem_ smart.” He hands her the bottle, which she takes and has a small sip from. 

“Hm.” She says like she’s considering the question herself. It’s a little odd to feel how closely he’s looking at her under his hat and behind his hair - he’s one of many men in this camp whose hair she would love to take the clippers to, though John is still first on that list. 

“You secretly from a rich family or something? You an educated little belle roughing it for a time?” He asks with a bitter mocking. 

Elizabeth chuckles, and watches Sean and Karen stumble by, giggling, completely oblivious to the two of them. 

“If I was, would you marry me? Run off to a nice big country house and live like a _proper gentleman_?” She says the last part with a drawl, like the kind of belle he’s picturing her as.

He laughs, and she realises she’s started to covet that low, rumbling sound from him. 

“Darlin’, I would marry you if we had to live in a goddamn outhouse, you’d be hard pressed to find any man that wouldn’t.” He says, slipping the bottle out of her grip. “You are somethin’ else.” And they’re joking with each other, but there is a tinge sincerity there that makes her feel flush, glad for the low light. 

She jumps in surprise when she hears a pair of wheezing laughs right behind her, through the canvas of the tent, and she realises that Sean and Karen have slipped inside, and certainly sound like they’re going in the direction of having a very nice time. 

“Sounds like young Sean has made quicker progress than me tonight.” Micah mumbles, and she laughs and bats his arm to be quiet. They should really move, it’s half-perverse for them to be sitting eavesdropping like this. 

_“Ooh, you’re a lovely woman, oh yes, that’s it.”_ Elizabeth can hear Sean moaning from inside and her cheeks flush in childish embarrassment, she stands, and reaches out for Micah to take her hand and stand too. 

“Could have put money on Sean being a loud one - can never shut his mouth that boy.” She covers her chuckle with her hand and drags Micah away from the tent. 

“That giving you any ideas there, missy?” He chuckles breathlessly, letting her keep hold of his hand and pull him to the other side of camp, until they’re behind Pearson’s wagon before she realises it. 

“This is the first time we’ve ever really spoke, Micah, fucking isn’t on my mind just yet.” She says, flushed and breathless. “Just have no interest in listening to my friend make a very bad decision with a loudmouth Irishman.” 

“Well _fuckin’_ sure is on my mind…” He grumbles and leans his head back against the wood, and she feels fondness, a little spark of it, when she looks at him. 

“Well, I’m not planning to leave you with _nothing_.” She says, because she doesn’t _want_ to leave him with nothing, she doesn’t want to leave _herself_ with nothing. 

He looks at her, glances over her face and down her body.

“You ain’t?” His eyebrow raises, he looks positively hungry. 

Elizabeth rests against him gently, and kisses him soft, without much preamble, buries her hand in that mess of dry blonde hair. He accepts it gladly, pushes it deeper, touches his tongue to hers and holds her hips steady so he can pull her tight. 

She doesn’t intend for it to go much further than that, but he turns them around, pushes her back against the wagon and hitches up her knee to his side. Elizabeth wears trousers, given that she takes care of the horses, so he can push right against her.

“Think you just might be the prettiest girl I ever touched.” He pulls away murmur against her ear before kissing it. “Been lookin’ at you for goddamn months.” 

The confession makes her breath hitch, she accepts the attention of his mouth on her jaw.

“You didn’t say anything.” She breathes, and her arm wraps around his shoulders, she feels the leather of his coat under her nails. 

“Got the impression that you had standards.” He breathes a raspy laugh and kisses down her neck, undoes the top button of her shirt to get more skin. “Glad to see I was wrong.”

She laughs too, breathlessly, but knows she can’t let him open many more of her buttons, anyone could walk by.

“Micah… Let’s stop now.” She says, much as she doesn’t want to. 

“Why?” He reattaches his mouth to her lips and reaches a hand down the back of her trousers, untucking her blouse. “Ain’t ya having a good time?”

“Yes, but…” She puts a hand on his wrist and moves it away from her backside. “Not out in the open - we barely know each other Mr Bell.” 

“Oh, it’s _Mr Bell_ now?” He says with a little bitterness, keeping hold of her hips but not kissing her anymore. “We not friends anymore?”

“No, I just-“

“Just felt like bein’ a tease tonight, huh?” His voice drips with poison. 

Oh, he’s angry with her, she realises, for asking him to slow down, and that makes her pretty angry in return. The shock of going from lustily kissing behind a wagon to having him turn on her like that sends a spike of frustration through her. She shoves him back, and it must take him by surprise because he actually staggers a little, despite being much stronger than her. 

He laughs when he recovers, and eyes her with that dangerousness he shows to others. “Oh, shoulda known this was coming, shouldn’t I princess? All gigglin’ and ready for it until it gets real.”

She feels herself get hot with embarrassment and anger, because she cannot believe she let herself forget this, that _this_ is what Micah is like just under the surface. 

“Fuck off, Micah.” Is all she can say, because she’s too tried and tipsy to try to articulate how ridiculous he’s being. When he catches her by the arm as she starts to walk away and pulls her back, she feels a little spark of fear in her gut and makes a fist, ready to strike. He wouldn't be the first man that had hit her for turning him down, and she's ready to surprise him with how hard she can hit back. 

“You gonna run off and tell on me?” He says harshly instead. 

“Let go of me.” She says, and she hates that she sounds scared when she knows he’s the one who’s afraid of a beating from any of the rest of the men. “I was having a fun night with you, you fool, I just didn’t feel like being had right in the open.”

He stops, still holding onto her, and regards her face and the shake in her voice.

When he lets go of her, she feels upset, and hurt that he had flipped his demeanour on her so quickly. She turns on her heel and marches back to her tent, slips inside and begins to untie the fastens on her flap so she can just be alone.

“You okay there, Elizabeth?” Arthur is walking by, hands on his belt. She can tell he’s been drinking because his eyes are bleary and he has a flush high on his cheeks - his posture is usually broad chested and upright too, but he slouches when he's had too much bourbon. 

“Yes, just feeling a little sick, overindulged with the whiskey on an empty somtach.” She lies; Arthur is more perceptive than anyone gives him credit for, but he’s drunk enough to miss the freshly-ravished look she must have.

“Yeah, I know the feelin’. Just try and get some sleep, okay? Bet Hosea can whip you up somethin’ that’ll help when you get up.” He says, and leaves her with a polite, if somewhat too heavy tap on the shoulder. Arthur is boundlessly kind, even when he’s drunk.

“Thanks, Arthur. Goodnight.” She says, and pulls on the tie as he nods and walks away, letting the flap fall. 

It bothers her that she can still hear everyone outside having a good time when she has been embarrassed into retreating. She sits on her cot, picks up a book, and immediately sets it back down, feeling restless. Reading is impossible when she’s this distracted, head still buzzing from drink and arousal.  Micah Bell is confusing, and infuriating, but she crosses her legs and feels that he has gotten her quite wet despite, and she is mostly angry with him for cutting short what could have been an enjoyable evening. 

For a while, she paces her tent, listening to the singing and laughing outside, the clinking bottles and the almost-fights where someone says something stupid and the other responds in kind. She doesn’t want to rejoin the party either, not really, she wants to be with Micah again, alone. She checks her reflection: her strawberry blonde hair looks darker in the candlelight, her lips are reddened from kissing, and she still has an alcohol-induced glow on her cheeks. Elizabeth isn't quite sure why it matters to her that she looks pretty before she leaves her tent, but it does.

So she leaves, and scans the camp for him. She isn’t precisely sure what she’s going to say or do, but she has never been capable of sitting and stewing. When she can’t find him at the fire or anywhere else and sees his tent flap closed, she makes for it with purpose.

“Mr Bell.” Elizabeth announces herself quietly when she slips inside, after glancing around to make sure no one sees her. 

“Jesus Christ, woman.” He’s lying on his cot, both hands behind his head, but he jumps like he’s been caught with his hand in his pants. “Good way to get shot, that.” And she doesn't doubt it, his ornately engraved twin pistols sit just beside him on the table.

“I just needed to speak with you.” She says, glancing around his tent. It’s much like everyone else’s, without much affectation or decoration beyond and bearskin rug and assorted blankets on his cot. It smells like leather polish, Baylock’s saddle is beside the entrance, looking freshly shined.

“Women do like to do that, don’t they? _Speak_.” He plays dumb, not bothering to get up from his cot, probably in an effort to get her to leave without having to ask.

She swallows and steels herself.

“You are a poisonous man, Mr Bell.” She says firmly, needing to get him to look at her, which he does. “You are crude and obnoxious and utterly impossible.” 

“Oh, you came here to _berate_ me, how nice.” He stands with an impatient sigh and slips off his jacket. “Let me get comfortable, I do so love the sound of your voice.”

“Stop talking to me like I’m stupid.” She says impatiently herself, and surprises him when she walks further in and stands in front of him. “I’m saying that in spite of those things, and how unfairly you just were to me outside, I still rather want you, which I could have told you if you hadn’t gotten so mad.” 

He looks at her for a long moment, visibly surprised and still not seeming to understand her. Micah puts his hands on his hips.

“Plenty of women want to fuck me, you know?” He says, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Okay?” She says, not understanding. 

“I could go into town and pick up someone in the saloon in a goddamn heartbeat, and I wouldn’t have to pay them neither.” His blue eyes pin her. 

“Alright, Micah? I don’t understand what-“

“I’m sayin’ I don’t need to _scare_ some girl into spreading her legs for me, when she clearly don’t want to, okay? I know people think I might like that but I don’t.” He says. “Much as I may have… overreacted out there, doesn’t mean I want you comin’ in here ‘cause you think I’m gonna have some sorta grudge against you.”

It clicks then, why he looks vaguely uncomfortable and why he seems to struggle to meet her eye.

“Is that why you think I’m here, because I’m scared of you?” Her voice softens as she regards him, his features softened by the candlelight. 

“Heh.” Micah laughs a little bitterly, hands on his hips, looking at his boots. “Now you say that I can’t quite tell why you’re here.”

“Well, it ain’t because I’m scared of you.” She passes him to sit out he edge of his cot, crossing her legs.

There’s a bit of a quiet where he continues to struggle to meet her eye before he finally does, and his expression seems to have hardened a bit.

“Did I say you could sit down?” He tries to close her off again. 

Far from being taken aback, Elizabeth sighs and glances around the tent. “Why are you doing that?”

“What?” He asks, like he doesn’t know. 

“Getting nasty, and defensive, I thought you didn’t want me to be scared of you.”

He purses his lips and stands in front of her, ruminating on it a moment.

“Don’t much like the way you make me feel, miss.” He says, and there’s still that hard edge to his tone.

“What way?”

“All... _tentative_... all knotted up inside. Make me feel like a goddamn teenage boy.” He says, and sniffs harshly like he immediately wishes he hadn’t said it. 

“I’m sorry.” She tries. 

“Good.” He takes her jaw in hand, seems to experiment with how hard he can squeeze it. “Now, you gonna tell me why you did come here or are you just gonna open that pretty mouth and _show_ me how sorry you are?”

Elizabeth doesn’t miss that he wants her mouth open for something other than talking, but she is way past taking the offence he’s trying to cause, he can’t help lashing out with a little poison when he feels exposed, she’s beginning to understand that.

So she knocks his hand off her jaw, and stands, centimetres apart, his belly pressing against her. He’s surprised by the action, she can tell in the way his eyes flash, but he doesn’t make to push her back.

“Is that really how you want me? You want me to just open my mouth and take it?”

His eyes glaze at her turning the words, and he wets his lips, rocking forward on his feet like he can’t help it.

“Yes.” He says automatically.

“Is it?” She asks, because she doesn’t believe it for a moment. He obviously cannot help taking a handful of her hip and pulling her bottom half fully against him - he’s hard, that much is painfully obvious, but he’s struggling with being looked at so closely.

“No.” He admits, clipped. 

“How do you want me?”

“Anyway you like-” He admits, unconsciously rubbing himself against her “- happy, willing, wet, fuckin' desperate for it preferably.” His fingers are unconsciously clutching and releasing where he’s holding her, and his voice is becoming deeper and raspier by the moment. It’s thrilling, it pushes her to be bolder and bolder because she’s not sure any man has ever wanted her this badly.

“Say you’re sorry.” She says, fully aware she could be pushing it too far but failing to care.

Micah makes a small noise that sounds like a growl.  She takes his hand off her hip and a displeased sound puffs out of his nose, replaced by a stuttered sort of shocked groan when she tugs his wrist to the front, and guides him to push his hand down the front of her trousers. 

“Goddamn, woman.” His fingers know where to go, pushing between the folds to feel her incredibly wet and hot. “I’m sorry.”

Her breath hitches and she smiles languidly as he takes the time to find and tease her clit with his middle finger while he’s at it.

“Alright.” She accepts. 

He is surprisingly deft with his fingers, and she feels her thighs quivering already as he watches her face while he feels her. Not rough, like she thought he would be the minute she gave him an inch. She takes is wrist in hand and moves his hand away from her, and he lets out a low, displeased rumble of a noise but lets her, looking more intrigued to see what she might do next than desperate to make his next move.

It makes her feel the need to surprise him, to see how worked up she can get him, so she raises his shining fingers to her lips and sucks off the taste of herself.

“Fuuuck...” He breathes out a dark chuckle that makes her shiver, watching her lips while wetting his own. “You done this with any of those other boys out there?” 

“Why do you want to know that?” She counters; it seems to slow him down a little when he has to explain why he’s asking these provocative questions. Elizabeth gets the impression he isn’t a man that usually has to explain himself.

“Kinda like the idea of being the only man round here that knows how goddamn filthy you are.” His breathing is picking up a little, he sounds like he is physically restraining himself from pouncing, which she appreciates. 

Answering his question will not be helpful, because she _has_ slept with a couple of them, because she wanted to, not because that was part of her job here like some of the other girls, as Micah would think. So he doesn’t need to know about the time years ago when John and her had got drunk in a saloon out west and ended up round the back in the dark up against a wall. Or that time she’d felt compelled to show a moping Arthur just how daft Mary Linton was for turning him away. 

Those times still meant a little something to her, and it didn’t take away from this, the hot pulse Micah was sending through her right at this moment, though he would think it did.

“Would you like to kiss me again?” 

“Like to do a lot more than that.” His hands find her hips again and he pulls her flush against his erection, when she doesn’t respond, he sighs impatiently. “Yeah, I _would_ like to kiss ya again, alright?”

She smiles and doesn’t make him suffer any longer, wrapping her arms round his shoulders and kissing him deep and good. He groans like he has just put himself inside her and pushes his tongue into her mouth, and isn’t as clumsy with it as she expects. It’s desperate, but it’s not sloppy, his hands slip down to her ass and squeeze covetously, pulling her higher and tighter. 

A little surprised moan is muffled into his mouth when he lifts her with more ease than she would anticipate, getting her under the thighs to wrap her legs round his middle and holding her tight. 

“Hellfire, I could fuck you just like this.” He kisses her jaw, sucks a just a little into the side of her neck before setting her down heavily on her back on his cot. “Not too easy on the knees though.” 

Elizabeth lets out a breathless chuckle, skin searing, ears buzzing, almost in disbelief at how much she wants him back on top of her the minute there’s distance between them.

“Sorry, been getting second helpings lately.” She jokes and her chuckle turns to a shaky gasp when he decides against unfastening the buttons on her blouse and opts instead to rip it open, buttons flying everywhere and fabric ripping. 

Anyone else, she would tell them off, but it sends another thrill through her.

“Oh, no no, sweetheart.” He makes similar, rough work of her bodice, kneeling between her legs; it’s too sturdy to rip, but he ruins the laces in his haste to get it open and expose her breasts. “No, no, you are a goddamn filthy dream.” 

There’s no bashfulness to the way he openly eyes her body, her chest and her stomach exposed to the warm air in his tent. He palms himself over his trousers, before getting off the cot to pull off her boots and dump them on the ground. 

“You sure you still want this, darlin’? ‘Cause once I see between those legs I ain’t gonna be able to stop.”

“I want it real bad, Mr Bell.” She says, and she sounds as eager as she feels, breathless. He seems to relish it, making a small noise of appreciation and wasting no time in peeling off her saddle pants.

“That why you ain’t wearin’ bloomers under there? You dirty little thing.” He puts his hands on her knees and pushes them apart, getting a good look at her. Elizabeth’s face heats red, and she grips the blanket under her hands, because she doesn’t want to give into the compulsion to clamp her legs together: she likes the way he’s looking at her, like he’s never seen anything so pretty as what’s between her legs.

He isn’t content to look either; he falls to his knees heavily, like she’s just shot him in the chest, and tugs her to the edge of the cot so he can lick and kiss at her folds without preamble, like she’s a fountain of ambrosia.

“ _Oh_ , my god.” She knocks off his hat, (that she only just noticed he still had on), to thread in the back of his messy hair. 

“Hmm.” He hums against her, tongue finding her clit, then sucking, holding her in place with his hands round her thighs. 

“Micah.” She moans, feeling herself writhe as her eyes slip shut. No one she’s had has ever been so good at this, so eager to please and happy to taste her. The camp around them doesn’t exist to her, being quiet doesn’t seem important. When his tongue dips inside her she lets out a high pitched sound that must cut through the sound of the singing around the campfire. But it feels too good for her to keep it in.

She doesn’t notice either that she has been grasping none too gently at his hair until he finally pulls back for air with a grunt. 

“Pullin’ my hair out down here.” He gruffly complains, voice absolutely ragged now. Micah leaves a little nip on her abdomen as he makes his way up her body. “That the thanks I get for makin’ you shake like that?” 

He’s smiling at her, making her smile back, breathlessly, pulsing between her legs still and completely dizzy. “Mmm, you are are a treat from head to toe.” When his knee finds the cot again, he reaches up to massage her breasts a moment, flicking his thumbs over her nipples. “Why you walk around keepin’ these covered up?”

“I don’t like men to stare.” 

“Heh, maybe that’s good thinking.” When his hands reach for his belt, she takes her tongue between her teeth and watches, aching and ready for it. “Be a good girl and turn over, now, don’t think I’ve ever wanted to put myself inside someone this much.” He says it with a demanding tone, but she enjoys the confession. 

Elizabeth catches herself almost complying without forethought, because she wants him to be inside her as quick as possible too, and the image of her having her like that, so he can hold her like he wants and give it to her with full force, it’s tempting. 

But with Micah, she’s starting to the feel the need to assert herself, just a little, just so he knows that fucking her isn’t some kind of submission on her part. 

“I want it on my back.” She says, and sees his hands pause where they’re opening his trousers, so she decides to help him along, moving his fingers out of the way to do it herself. “Want us to be able to see each other.” When his fly his open, she glances down at his freed cock; average in size, but thick, hard and wet at the tip. 

“Kinda wanted to finish all over that pretty ass of yours.” He mumbles, but seems distracted by her hand wrapping around him, working him up and down once, at which he sucks in a deep breath. “But I guess the front of you is just as nice.”

She lets go of him, and lays herself down on the cot, watching him take his trousers of the rest of the way hastily and dump them on the ground. He seems too much in a rush to take his shirt off, so she grabs the red material and pulls him on top of her, wrapping a leg round his hips. 

There isn’t much preamble before he positions himself and pushes into her, all the way, so their hips are flush. It makes her almost shout out, being filled a little too quickly, and she scrambles to grab hold of him, gasping loudly at the feeling of intense fullness. 

“Shit, you are tight.” His hands grip the blanket under her arms so he can thrust into her again, shaking her body with the force of it. Her nails dig into his shirt at his shoulders and she lets out a far too loud moan; she likes it far more than she would have thought, this roughness, and it spurs him on to keep going - faster, harder.

It’s not like they can be languid and slow, they’re still in the middle of camp, in the middle of a party, and anyone could stick their head through the flap as their idea of a joke. 

The stretch of him feels so good, he’s hitting her just right, and she finds herself chasing the feeling, desperate to come.

“Goddamn.” She moans, holding onto him and trying to muffle her sounds into his shoulder. “Micah.”

“Don’t think my name’s ever sounded so - _shit_ \- goddamn sweet.” He’s sweating, she can feel it through his shirt. The cot is squeaking under his movements; he’s fucking her like it’s his _job_ , and she knows she will feel it in the morning. 

“So good.” She guides his face up away from her neck and kisses him deeply. “You’re so goddamn good.” 

He grunts in approval, and slows down a bit, giving her a few hard thrusts as they kiss wetly. It's not going to last long for her, and she don't think it will for him either, but she doesn't care, she doesn't intend for it to be the only time. 

“You gotta let me do this to you again, sweetheart, ain’t never felt a cunt like yours.”

At his filthy words, she clenches, and he lets out a long groan, eyes slipping shut. He grinds, then, letting her feel every bit of him, and her head falls back with a moan while she raises her hips to meet his.

“Oh,” his head presses against her shoulder and his eyes squeeze shut, she isn’t sure she’s ever heard a man sound so desperate, “I wanna come inside you so badly.”

And she shouldn’t, it’s stupid and reckless, but she wants it, she can feel that she’s right there on the edge of her orgasm and she knows it’ll push her over if he does.

“Do it.” She grasps his hair and writhes her hips.

“Ffffuck…” He picks up the pace again, clearly not needing to be told twice, and gets that cot squeaking again as he pushes them both towards the end. Elizabeth swears and just holds onto him and takes it, absolutely on fire. “Mmm… You are like nothin’ else… Gonna marry you, gonna put a baby in you, gonna buy you a house and whatever you want.” 

Elizabeth never thought she would hear Micah babbling, but that’s what he’s doing, single minded in chasing the need to finish. 

And his words, hollow as she knows they are, push her over the edge in their raw intensity, combined with her fingers on her clit, and she twitches and clings to him tightly with her free hand, the orgasm hitting her hard. 

“Micah!” She moans, far, far louder than she means to as the feeling of him inside her stretches out the pleasure, her spasming around his cock making it almost uncomfortably intense.

“Shit,” he groans shakily at the feeling, “goddamn, woman.” And he pulls back enough to see her face, and she can’t imagine what a mess she must look like right now, brow furrowed as she still feels her walls fluttering. That seems to be what makes Micah come, stilling inside her with a noisy, rough grunt.

“Ah…” Elizabeth holds him through it, finds herself stroking his hair as his hips stutter and his cock spurts inside of her. His hands have wound under her shoulders, and he’s holding her tight as he groans into her neck and gives her every drop he has. 

“Goddamn.” He groans again, and pants raggedly against her skin, finally spent. He stays in that spot for a while, cock twitching weakly inside of her and his weight almost becoming uncomfortable. Elizabeth is sweating too, panting and holding onto him with limp arms - still clenching and unclenching around him. Then, when the aftershocks of both their orgasms finally wear off, he lets out a ragged little laugh that puffs across her ear. “Shit, that’s just about done me in.” 

When he slips himself out of her, she shudders, and somewhat returns to her senses again. She doesn’t miss him watching the leak of his come out of her when he pulls out, looking satisfied with it before dropping onto his back beside her. 

The sound of the party comes back to them then - Elizabeth feels like she’s been in Micah’s tent for hours, but it couldn't have been more fifteen minutes. He isn’t speaking, she can just see his chest rising and falling in her peripheral vision, and feels a slight chill over her skin as a breeze blows through the gaps in the canvas and reminds her how very naked she is. She’s struck by how much she doesn’t want to move; she would rather like to turn over and lay her head on his chest for a while, but she can’t presume that a man like Micah would want that (she would hate for him to think that anything he had said in his lust-clouded state had been taken seriously).

So she sits up on the edge of the cot and feels around for her shirt and trousers: she’s sure she can rush over to her to her own tent without her bodice and avoid being seen. 

“Where do you think you’re going, huh?” Micah catches her arm when she stands and drags her back over to the cot where he’s lying. “You gettin’ your jollies and running out on me, missy?”

Surprised, she chuckles and leans down to kiss him again, simple and sweet. He tucks some of her hair behind her ear, and holds her face there a moment. She can’t really discern his expression but he’s just looking at her, glancing over her lips and up to her eyes. 

“I- you…” It might be the first time she has heard him struggle for words, so she purses her lips and waits. “You wanna stay a while? Folks out there’ll be askin’ all kinds of questions you might not want to answer.” 

That sounds like an excuse to her; she may be being over hopeful, but it seems like he just _wants_ her there.

“You’re probably right.” Elizabeth kisses him again and lays back down, puts her head on his chest like she wanted to, and enjoys how he rests his hand on her ass, and pulls her right up against his side. 

“Don’t see much point in wakin’ up tomorrow if that’s the first and last time I ever get to do that to you.” He murmurs, and his fingers stroke her skin very gently. Elizabeth wonders if he knows that sometimes he sounds more romantic than filthy.

“Oh I have no intention of that being the last time, you’re a man of many talents Micah Bell.” He chuckles at that, she feels it vibrate in his chest.

“I’ll bear in mind that the way to your heart is eatin’ your pussy.” He squeezes her ass, and she laughs. “Which is somethin’ I would be willing to wake you up with - if you felt like staying tonight.” 

Micah asks it in a roundabout way, she expects that he wouldn’t be able to just ask her to stay outright, lest he look anything less than unfazed and aloof. So she hides her smile in his shirt and nods. 

“Anything you like.” 


	2. In the Trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this meant to be a one chapter thing? Yes. Am I weak and easily drawn to horrible irredeemable villains? Also yes.

It’s been a week since Sean’s home-coming party, a week since her tryst with Micah Bell, and after finding him gone from his tent the morning after, he has barely said a word to her. Elizabeth tried a couple of times, even once sidled up to him at dinner, and handed him a bowl of stew; he’d thanked her, brusquely, though looked at the bowl like she might be trying to poison him, and taken it to his tent.

If anyone had noticed the sullen mood that had put her in, they had the good sense to keep quiet. Elizabeth was not in the habit of desperately hoping for attention from cold men and she wasn’t about to start now, but she’d thought… Something, she’d thought _something_ more had occurred that evening between them than just getting off.

She’s almost glad that her list of chores has been particularly long, and that he has been away from camp a lot following leads - it’s difficult to handle seeing him and knowing that something about her isn’t even good enough for a smile and a ‘good morning.’ So she works with the horses, alongside Kieran, quite often, cleaning, feeding, making poultices for their injuries and riding them into town and back when services from the stables are required. Anything to keep her mind off Micah goddamn Bell, (of all the people to be driving her to distraction).

The climate still feels like a warm blanket after their time up in the mountains, so Elizabeth feels comfortable in her blouse and skirt, hair up so she can feel the breeze on the back of her neck as she leads Brown Jack back to camp, through the trees.

“That leg looks mighty fine to me.” She says to him, patting his neck. “Bill will be pleased, he loves you, really.”

“You make a habit of talking to animals too dumb to understand you, miss?” She recognises Micah’s voice straight away, but it still makes her jump. He’s leaning on a nearby tree, smoking his pipe, and looking far too pleased with himself to have startled her.

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?’’ She says back, snippily, because he’s speaking to her like he hasn’t ignored her for the past week.

“Ooh, good one, should have anticipated that.” Micah chuckles in that dark way he does, and so she just keeps walking, keeping old of Brown Jack’s reins. She hears Micah walk quickly to come up to the side of her.

“You not talkin’ to me, princess?” He says, and she feels an irritated sting in her gut, pursing her lips and continuing to walk rather than get into it with him. “Take that as a no. Clearly somethin’s got you all touchy.”

“Oh, be quiet Micah.” She says, and sees him tip out his pipe and put it in his pocket.

“Sure,” he catches her by the wrist and pulls her to him, making her release the reins, “don’t need to talk to have a good time with you, tiger.”

When he squeezes her hips and pulls her against his front, she flushes, because she’s wanted this from him all week, but feels more angry than anything else.

“I know we don’t have to talk, you’ve made that quite clear in the fact that you’ve barely looked my way since putting yourself inside me.” She pushes on his shoulders, but he holds her fast, eyeing her closely.

“Didn’t know you took things that seriously.” He backs her up into a tree, not too harshly, just enough to keep her pressed tight against him. “Thought we was just having a bit of fun.”

“We were.” She says, looking up at him with a scowl, wishing she could just find him as ugly as the rest of the girls and push him away proper. “But…”  
  
“But nothin’…” He lowers his voice and leans right into her face, hitches her leg up to his hip. “I ain’t been the most talkative ‘cause I didn’t wanna give you any ideas but - just don’t think I can keep my hands off you anymore. Look so damn delicious.”  
  
When he kisses her, his mouth tastes like whatever herby mixture he’s been smoking in his pipe, and the stubble of his moustache irritates her upper lip, but she likes it, she likes it _so much_. She grips hold of his upper arms, feeling the leather under her fingertips. When he grinds against her, and she feels that he’s already hard in his pants, she lets out a noise of discontent.

Of course, _that’s_ all she’s good for to him. So she breaks the kiss, pressing the back of her head against the tree-bark, and pushes on his arms again. He actually backs off this time, hands up in surrender.

“Doll, you’re making this harder than it should be.” He grumbles, and runs his thumb over his lips where they’ve just been connected. “Stop pretendin’ like you ain’t aching for me already.”

“Shut up.” She snaps and straightens out her skirt. “You might think I’ve got nothing but fluff between my ears but I wasn’t so drunk that night Micah Bell, you enjoyed my company as much as I enjoyed yours and don’t pretend like you didn’t.”

Putting his thumbs in his belt loop, he chuckles roughly. “I enjoyed the company that tight little thing between your legs, sure.”

Resisting the urge to look too visibly hurt, because she knows that’s what he’s after, she just clenches her fists and brushes by him to take the horse's reins.  
  
“Well go screw your hand next time, then, you cold bastard.” She sets off walking again, faster than last time, making the horse trot behind her.

“You really stormin’ off right now?” He calls behind her. “Christ, you’d think I _had_ married you.”

She bites back a curse, and instead snaps back over her shoulder: “Bill needs his horse back.”

“He can wait!” He shouts a little louder, clearly not rushing to catch up with her. So she doesn’t respond to him, she’s not yelling through the trees because it’s his idea of a conversation. She swears she hears a little growl, before quick footsteps gain on her.

“Goddamn making me run after you.” He grumbles angrily when he’s finally beside her again.

“I didn’t make you do shit.” She grumbles back, not looking at him. She keeps her chin high and marches forward, because she refuses to let him see that he has upset her with his apathy. He doesn’t speak for a moment, and she resists the urge to glance over at him.

“ _Agh_ ,” he growls in frustration, and she looks then, “what the hell you want for me woman?”

“Nothing.” She responds, and smiles at him bitterly. “Don’t want a single thing from you Micah, you want something from me?”

“No.” He responds immediately, and she sighs deeply and stops walking, hitches the horse to the closest tree before rounding on him with crossed arms. Micah looks appropriately halted, almost like he's anticipating her rounding on him with a slap. 

“Really? _Nothing_? ‘Cause you could have walked away already, I wouldn’t have stopped you, but you _want_ to be here with me right now, don’t you? Is my pussy really that good that it’s worth putting up with all my yapping?”

He sighs, and knocks the brim of his hat so he can see her better.

“Just might be.” He says, and takes a few small steps towards her. He really has a way of looking like some kind of tensed up predator, ready and willing to pounce at any moment. Elizabeth usually doesn't like men like that - but Micah - there's something about him. “Just might be that I kinda _like_ the way you yap. Not scared of me one little bit, are you?”

“No I am not.” She says, firmly, and he seems to consider that for a moment. He looks at her closely and breaths out just small laugh, shaking his head a little bit.

“You’re the only one.” He says, eyes downcast, and she wonders if she’s just imagining that tinge of sadness she hears in his tone. “Only woman that’s taken a good look at me like you have and not set off runnin’.”

“Micah…” She feels herself softening a little bit.

“You must be goddamn crazy.” He says, and approaches her again, but doesn’t immediately grab hold of her this time. This time he approaches her like he wants her to come the rest of the way. “Guess that’s why I like you so much.”

She steps a bit closer to him and reaches up; most of the time, he has no trouble pinning a person with his gaze, looking them dead in the eye, but he seems to be struggling to do it now. Elizabeth runs her thumb over the scar that cuts down his lip to his chin.

“Say I let you have me right now… Pull up my skirt and get on the ground…” A long breath leaves his nose at that and he watches her lips move. “You gonna just ignore me for another week or two ’til I spread my legs for you again?”

“No.” He shakes his head and leans into her touch. “Promise.”

Leaning forward, she holds his shoulders and kisses him deeply, and enjoys the way he catches her around the waist and holds her like he’s _relieved_.

“You’d say anything to get under my skirt right now, wouldn’t you?” She teases against his mouth.

“I _would_ … But I’m not.” He peppers kisses down her cheek and jaw, just like he had last time. “Just going to have to trust me, sweetheart.”

Elizabeth can’t think of many people she _should_ trust less, but she does in this moment, and she’s old enough and smart enough to know she’ll get over it eventually if he does give her the cold shoulder tomorrow.

So she just lets herself enjoy it when their heated kissing turns to grasping of clothes, and they’re soon on the ground with his hand up her skirt, feeling at the skin of her thigh. He’d talked about wanting her on all fours when they first did this, and it’s an image that has stuck in her head, so when she feels him grinding his hardness against her through her drawers, she leaves a bite on his lower lip and palms him through his trousers.

“Want me from behind?” She asks him, like she doesn’t know the answer, and he groans aloud and pulls back enough to turn her over.

“Christ Almighty, you are somethin’ else alright.” He bunches up her skirt at her waist, and she grips grass between her fingers, head too clouded with arousal to even care that they are very much outside and not too far from camp either. It doesn’t matter, her nipples are hard against her blouse and she can’t imagine how wet she is. Nothing matters aside from having Micah inside her.

He doesn’t make her wait long, with a hand on her shoulder and the other on her waist, he fills her quickly, sounding like a wounded man in the way he grunts when he does it.

“Feels like fuckin’ heaven.” He groans, and she makes a desperate whimpering sound at that, eyes falling closed. It’s good from this angle, she can feel every inch of him stretching her, hitting it just right when quickly he builds up an unforgiving rhythm.

“Ohhh, my god, Micah.” She’s shaken by every push of him inside her, he reaches down to grasp her breast through her blouse and squeezes, keeping his chest pressed against her back so he can grunt into her ear.

“Say my name again, please, agh, sounds so sweet…” He grits out, and wraps an arm fully around her chest, thrusting shallow, deep inside, and keeping them pressed tight. She isn’t sure she’s ever heard him say ‘please’ before.

“Micah…” She near whimpers, nerves on edge, she isn’t going to even need to touch herself to finish this time, she can feel it building already. “Micah, Micah, Micah.” It’s chanted out into the air, she grabs handfuls of grass and closes her eyes.

“Shit, shit.” He sounds as desperate as her, and he sits back to take her hips in hand, snapping them back against his and squeezing handfuls of her ass while he does. “Gonna fuckin’ paint you with it, sweetheart.”

“Mmm…” Is all she can respond, because the sound of his voice makes her come around him; not the hardest she’s ever had, not the most nerve-frazzling, but satisfying, and all the better for how much Micah sounds like he enjoys the feeling of it as much as she does.

With a frantic groan, he pulls out of her like it pains him to do so, and spills himself across her ass, hot and copious, his grip on her hips becoming almost bruising as he roughly voices his release. When he's finally finished, he stays knelt there a moment, panting. 

“Hellfire…” He sucks a breath through his teeth, and Elizabeth feels him fall back onto the ground.

With a shaking breath of her own, she prepares to pull her bloomers up and just deal with the uncomfortable stickiness, but she is surprised when she feels cloth wiping her clean, and looks over her shoulder to find he has removed his green neckerchief.

“Thank you.” She says, somewhat awkwardly, and then fixes her bloomers and skirt, sitting on the ground in front of where he flops back down.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t do the laundry.” He snorts and folds it up, tucking it in his pocket. “Should leave it in Bill’s pack.” He nods towards Brown Jack. “That’d make a nice treat for him, wouldn’t it?”

Elizabeth chuckles and leans back on her hands, feeling wobbly and worn out. Micah’s chest is rising and falling heavily still, and he looks relaxed, colour in his cheeks. She wants to stay there for a while, in this warm, relaxed feeling, and with that gaze he's giving her that could convince her she was sitting with a much gentler man than she was. But she can't stay too long, she knows it, and she also knows that they'll probably just start fighting again if left alone together too long. 

“Should get back to camp.” Elizabeth sighs and stands, brushing some of the loose grass of her skirt. “Someone’ll come looking soon enough.”

“I guess so.” He says reluctantly and stands up himself. It makes her smile amusedly to herself when she notices him only just tucking himself away and zipping up his fly. Micah straightens his hat on on his head and sniffs bracingly. “I’ll escort ya back.”

Elizabeth doesn’t question it or second guess him when he suggests that, nor when he offers his arm to loop with hers. They'll let go by the time they get back, but she enjoys it anyway, walking quietly together through the trees for a short time.

As soon as the camp comes in to view, they part, and Elizabeth cannot resist leaving a small peck on his cheek before she leads Brown Jack to the horse station, or glancing over her shoulder to see him cover his smile with a cough, before swaggering over to the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will _probably _be the last instalment of this story (but not necessarily this pairing), but who knows?__


	3. Chasing Wild Horses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I was not planning to get so fluffy and emotional on this one, but these two have really grabbed me. As you can tell, this story is more episodic than one long narrative, but it will be in chronological order of their relationship, no jumping around. 
> 
> NSFW content ahead (of course!)

Elizabeth’s skill with horses is not just limited to caring for the ones around the camp. Occasionally, someone will return and tell her about a breed they think they’ve spotted out on the plains, and she will see for herself. Usually, they’re wrong, an American Paint is actually a standard Morgan with a spotted coat - but every now and then they really do spot a real beauty. A Mustang, a Thoroughbread, even a Turkoman, if they’re very lucky - so Elizabeth will go out riding, and spend the hours or days it takes to get close enough to tame it and bring it back.

Her own, Gwendoline, is one such horse, a beautiful tall grey Ardennes built thick enough to pull a cart but fast enough to get her from camp to town in no time. It had taken her into the night to get her to accept a pat on the neck and to get her to feed from Elizabeth’s hand. 

She’s on the trail of one now; Kieran believes he spotted a brown Arabian on their journey from Horseshoe to Clemens Point, and she trusts his assessment more than anyone else’s, and desperately hopes she can chase it down. All day, she hasn’t seen a glimpse, so she sits on a sandy bluff just as the sun starts to go down, exhausted, and ready to try again the next day.

Almost up into the Heartlands now, probably on the Lemoyne border, she decides that the ride back to camp is not worth it just to come back again in the morning, so sets up camp in this elevated spot overlooking the roads below and offering a good view of the land around her.

“You hungry, girl?” She asks, stoking the newly lit fire before approaching her horse. Elizabeth feeds her a mix of fruits and grains she makes herself, before sitting back on her bedroll by the fire. It’s nice to be alone, to clear her head, but of course as soon as that thought occurs to her, she is alone no longer. 

First, she hears approaching gallops, then the sound of a person dismounting. As soon as she hears the crunch of footsteps behind her, she stands and picks up her shotgun, aiming it at the source of the noise.

“This is my camp, friend, and I don’t much want company. Be on your way.” But as soon as her eyes adjust to the dim light, she knows who it is from the silhouette alone. Big hat, long coat, hands lazily raised.

A low laugh escapes him, and Micah saunters towards her.

“I ain’t gonna hurt ya, sweetheart.” He says, looking amusedly at the sawed-off in her hand. “Should know that by now.” 

Elizabeth sighs and drops her gun down on the bedroll. “Did you follow me?” 

Micah approaches her fire and warms his hands on it. “I ever gonna catch you talkin' to an actual human being instead of a horse? And no, I got better things to do that follow you around.” He says. “We just happen to be goin’ in the same direction, is all.” 

“Funny, that.” She says, unconvinced, but not entirely sure _why_ he might have followed her here. 

“It is, amazin’ coincidence, but it worked out well.” He smiles at her in that amused way he always seems to. Another thing Elizabeth can’t quite figure out, what’s so amusing about her to him. “Can keep each other company, tonight. Quiet round here.”

Micah looks around and down at the road. “Nicely out of sight, your little tent.” 

Elizabeth knows quite well what he means by that, and sits herself down on the bedroll again with a knowing smile.

“You rode all the way up from Clemens, tracked me like a prize doe, to fuck me in my little tent?” It’s her turn to look amused. Micah sniffs and looks at her.

“Told you, princess, I ain’t followed you, just travellin’ the same path.” He says, too casually. Elizabeth just nods appeasingly, not buying it. 

Micah sits down beside her on the bedroll and stretches his legs out comfortably. They haven’t seen one another in a couple of days, both too busy and Micah being frequently away from camp to chase leads. Elizabeth has missed him, really, and she’s pretty sure she’s the only one in camp who has.  
  
But she won’t tell him, he’ll only laugh, try to make her feel silly. 

“You _do_ know you’re in O’Driscoll territory, right?” He says. “They got between 3-5 major camps around here, travel in big groups terrorisin’ folk and shooting any Van der Linde’s on sight.” 

“That’s why I’m armed.” She says, unsure what he’s getting at. Micah laughs a little rough.  
  
“No offence to your gunslingin’ skills, but what you think you’re gonna do against a band of nasty bastards like that? You been with Dutch a long time, they’ll know your face.” 

“Then I guess I’d have to use my feminine wiles.” She shrugs, impatient. Why are they having this conversation?

“The hell does that mean, woman?” He asks, looking at her kind of hard. Elizabeth knows she looks visibly taken aback and looks at him hard back, frowning. 

“I’ve been out and done this plenty of times, you know?” She snaps. “Been riding on my own since long before you met me. What’s your problem?”

“Ain’t got a problem, just checkin’ you’re alright with gettin’ shot in the head out here.” He sounds defensive, and stops looking at her in the eye. 

Elizabeth starts to understand it then, why he’s here. “You worried about me, Micah?” She asks, and tries not to sound as smug as she feels.

Micah scoffs, as if on impulse. “You think I rode all the way up here just ‘cause you’re just that special, princess?” He looks at her with mocking, but she rests her chin on her hand and looks right back at him with a small smile. 

“That’s _exactly_ what I think, Micah Bell.” 

“ _Micah Bell_.” He mimics. “You always say my full name when you think you _got me,_ you noticed that? _Elizabeth DuPont_?”

“Well, don’t I got you?” She asks, keeping her tone as soft as can be, knowing he’ll just close her down if he feels she’s making fun of him too much. 

Micah doesn’t respond for a moment, just looks at her lips, letting out a breath before speaking.

“I was maybe a little concerned that you didn’t bring a man with you for the trip, yes. Are you happy now? That what you wanted to hear?”

Elizabeth smiles despite his shortness. “Yes, it is what I wanted to hear.” She says, and scoots closer to him on the bedroll, enough so their arms press together and she can put her head on his shoulder. She feels him tense, clearly not having anticipated it, but he doesn’t nudge her away. 

“What are you doing, girl?” He sighs. 

“Just nice to have someone worrying about me.” She says.

“I didn’t say _worried_.”  
  
“‘Concerned’ is the same as ‘worried.’” She smiles, though he can’t see it. Micah just sighs impatiently again, but she doesn’t buy that he is feeling impatient, because he puts his hand on her thigh and rubs gently with his thumb. Elizabeth holds his arm there, feeling the leather of his jacket under her fingers. 

“Don’t know why I was.” He murmurs. “Pain in my goddamn ass.” 

Elizabeth turns her head to rest her chin on his shoulder instead, and he looks at her a little softer. She really likes him, no one else would understand it, but she just does. She kisses him, feeling his moustache tickle her nose and as usual, he wastes no time responding. He holds the back of her head and pushes harder, her tongue touches his just delicately, in a way that makes him make a little noise in his throat. 

If it had been Arthur or John that had followed her out here to watch her back, she would have scolded them for wasting their time and not trusting her to take care of herself. But she doesn’t feel that way with Micah; with them, it would feel suffocatingly fatherly, and she doesn’t need them to prove they care about her. She and Micah had sex a few times, he flirts with her constantly and touches her whenever he can, but emotion is decidedly left out of it, so him caring about her has been a question left very much up in the air. 

Following her all the way out here, tracking her down to keep an eye out for her, it feels good, it makes her cheeks warm and her fingers tingle. She grips at his shoulder, and nudges him to lay down on the bedroll so she can put a leg over him and straddle his thighs. Micah takes her ass in both hands, squeezes and leans his head up to keep kissing her. 

For once, she wishes she was wearing a skirt instead of pants so she could just take off her bloomers and get started. She and Micah rarely take their time, usually out in the open or sneaking quickly into one another’s tents when they get to chance. 

“Get those trousers off, gorgeous, been too long.” Micah tugs at her waistband, and she giggles a little, breathlessly, and stands to do so. 

“Been a couple of days, Micah.” She says, and toes off her boots before peeling off the saddle pants and underthings, exposing her to him and the open air, feeling the chill across her skin. 

“Like I said,” Micah works quickly to get his belt open and his fly down, “too long.”

When Elizabeth climbs back on top of him, she licks the scar on his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, and delights at the way he almost gasps and chases her mouth with his own; he reaches down between them to feel between her lips, circles her clit with his fingers. 

“You been thinkin’ about me?” He speaks roughly against her lips. “I been thinking about you, hard as a goddamn rock already.”

Elizabeth hums in response, already feeling hot and on edge when he pushes a finger inside her to check if she’s ready. She is, she can feel that she is.

“I have been thinking about you.” She admits. “All the time.”

“Mmm.” That response seems to please him, and he positions his cock just right, rubs the tip across her to make her shudder. “Good.”

She sits back a little once he’s positioned, and lowers herself down slowly onto his cock, feeling him stretch her, hearing the way his breath hitches and he grips her hips tight when she does it.

“Oh, god.” Elizabeth gasps, fully seated; it feels so good to have him all the way inside her, and she closes her eyes and grinds against him, getting used to it. Micah is reaching up to unbutton her blouse and she barely notices, starting to lift and lower herself on him; it’s only when her breasts are exposed to the air that she really takes notice.

“Goddamn, shit, sweetheart, look at you.” Luxuriating in his gruff praise, she picks up a steady pace, hands bunched in the front of his red shirt as she raises and lowers herself on him; Micah groans every time he’s deep in her, letting her do what she wants, holding but not guiding her movements.  
  
It’s not going to be long before she comes, she can already feel it, building up low and making her screw her eyes shut and open her mouth in a moan.

Seeing that, Micah detaches a hand from its hard grip on her stomach to thumb her clit, making her breath catch and her thighs clench around him.

“Micah…” She slows to a grind, pushing herself closer and closer on him.

“That’s it sweetheart,” he grips her ass again and squeezes, tugging her to keep grinding on him, “come on my cock.”

She does as he tells her, for once, throws her head back and moans into the night air, tugging tight on his shirt, probably ruining it. Her orgasm goes on for a long time after it hits, and he doesn’t stop working her off with his hand, and his cock inside her intensifies it maddeningly. 

“Fuckin’ beautiful.” Her head clears, somewhat, but she doesn’t stop clenching and unclenching around him, pulsing and twitching with the aftershocks of it. “Shit, gotta let me come inside you.”

He says it like a statement, but it’s his way of asking, he won’t do it if she tells him not to. Elizabeth can’t tell him not to though, again, she doesn’t want to disconnect from him for a second until they’re both sated, so she picks his hand up and puts it on her breast, and squeezes with his fingers.

“I’m ready.” She moans, and doesn’t stop moving on him despite her oversensitivity. Micah grunts loud when he comes inside her, hard, holding her hips down to make sure she takes it all; sometimes she wonders if it wasn’t just talk when he told her he was going to put a baby in her.

“Ah, Christ.” Micah shudders through her release, grunting and groaning, swearing and praising her. “I goddamn lo - you feel real good.” 

When his muscles finally relaxes, and his grip loosens, it's over. Elizabeth stops moving when they’re both finally done, lifts her hips enough to let him slip out of her, and seats herself on his upper thighs, boneless. She leans her weight on her hands on his stomach, and shivers, finally feeling the cold again. 

“Well, thanks for making my trip worth it, sweetheart.” He says, and Elizabeth just breathlessly laughs and slips off him, dropping heavily on the bedroll beside him. 

“I live to please you.” She says sarcastically, and he laughs rough and fastens his pants, sitting up on his elbows to look at her. Elizabeth feels relaxed and satisfied, warmed from head to toe, and entirely unashamed by her exposure to the night air. 

“You and me are gonna have to be careful, sweetheart.” He rubs her thigh absentmindedly with his hand; she is just getting up the energy to put her pants back on, but it's taking a while for her limbs to stop feeling like warm jelly. “Might end up with a little Micah Bell the Fourth on our hands.” 

Elizabeth sighs, and tries to figure out how she really feels about that idea. She doesn’t want that, not now, but in the future? The idea doesn’t sound _so_ horrible, and that is a strange thought to have occur to her. 

“We’ll be less reckless next time.” She says, and reaches over to pick up her discarded pants; Micah takes the opportunity to slap her exposed ass, just gently, enough to make her let out a surprised noise and giggle. 

“There gonna be a next time, then?” He looks up at her, leaning back on one elbow on the bedroll as she stands to put her pants back on. 

“Isn’t there always with us?” She says, and he smirks and nods. 

“And I aim to keep it that way.” He sits up and takes his knife and sharpening rock from his pocket, sniffing bracingly. “So we'll be accompanyin’ you the rest of this wild goose chase to find this Arabian. Me and Baylock.” 

“It’s not a wild goose chase.” Elizabeth finds her pack and takes out the corned beef sandwiches she had wrapped for herself that morning and a couple of bars of chocolate. “I’m pretty sure it isn’t, anyway.”

Micah nods at her in thanks when she hands him some food, and she sits down beside him. “Well, we’ll soon find out.” 

Elizabeth watches him for a moment, the firelight flickering on his face while he eats, when he notices, he raises his eyebrow.

“What?” He asks through a mouthful.

“Nothing.” She shrugs, and decides to be honest. “Just, glad to have your gun at my back. Thank you for finding me.”

“You’re welcome.” Micah says, and slings an arm carelessly over her shoulder. “Any time you need me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a comment if you enjoyed! 
> 
> Talk to me on tumblr: johnmarstoned.tumblr.com


	4. A Night On The Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist coming back to these two! This is in first person perspective for a change.

 

Micah and I have gotten into the habit, when we can get away with it, of setting up our own little camps at some remote location and meeting there and staying for a night or two, when we can think of a good enough excuse to be gone for so long. It can’t be too often, because we know people will start to notice if we are both gone, together, at the same time.

For Micah, it’s easy, he can say he’s following a lead, robbing some folks, whatever he wants - there are only so many times I can pretend I’m tracking down some speedy mare before they start to wonder why I never come back with more than a flush on my face and bruises on my knees.

On this particular day, we don’t bother with a camp, we take a chance on a town and hope no one else has decided to make the long ride from Clemens Point to Valentine for some reason. I doubt they will, the boys seem to be too busy with that business in Rhodes to bother with that kind of a ride. As pretty as our current camp is, I do miss it the fresh air, as I am not a lover of the heat. 

We arranged to meet in Smithfield's, and I find him there, leaning on the bar and working on a whiskey. It’s busy, it being the evening, the tables full of folks drinking and eating, the piano playing jauntily in the background.

“Not drunk already are you?” I ask, leaning beside him. He looks down at me with a little look of surprise.

“Not many people can sneak up on me, ya know?” He says, and rests an arm gently round my waist. “Coulda slit my throat and I would never have known.”

“More likely to have picked your pocket.” I say, enjoying his closeness and the leather smell of his jacket.

“Nice girl like you? Not some kinda outlaw are ya?” He smiles down at me, clearly feeling playful.

“No, but I know a couple.” I catch the busy bartender’s eye and mouth the word ‘bourbon,’ to which he nods.

“Bad men?” Micah squeezes my hip a bit. “Scary, mean types?”

I fight the urge to laugh and reach up to touch his moustache.

“They like to think so, but I think they’re all soft as teddy bears.”

“Hmm.” He looks down my body, the opening of my blouse, holding me a bit too close for polite company as he likes to do when he can get away from it. “Can you hurry up and get this woman a drink?”

At Micah’s order, I get my drink quick enough, and we find a table in a quiet corner of the saloon, getting pleasantly tipsy and laughing so much you could almost mistake us for a real couple.

“Y’see, I get so used to seein’ you with them horses I forget that you ain’t as innocent as you look.” He says, after I tell him a story about slipping the watch out of the pocket of a man I was speaking to face to face.  

“Well, it’s been a while since I got myself in trouble, I could forget as well.” I sip my drink. “Not that I think I’m so innocent looking.”

“Of course you are.” Micah says, leaning forward on his elbows. “With that pretty blonde hair and those big ol’ eyes.” He reaches across, completely unabashed, and puts a hand on my jaw. “Only giveaway that you’re a bad girl is these lips, they were just  _made_  for sin.”

“Micah…” I feel my cheeks flush and I shake my head. The way he looks at me leaves no question what he’s thinking about sometimes, what he wishes he were doing to me. It makes me tingle and think just as filthy thoughts as I’m sure he does.

His hand leaves my face and he looks amused that he’s managed to make me blush.

“Am I going to be regaled with any tales from your rough and tumble teenage years any time soon?” I ask, because although I’ve heard him mention his father and brother in passing, he’s never really gone in to more detail than what I’ve heard him telling the men round the campfire. His father does not sound like a pleasant man. 

A look crosses his face, rather serious, before he breathes out a small laugh and shakes his head.

“Wouldn’t wanna ruin the mood, be honest with ya.” He says. “Not nearly as fun as your stories.”

I nod in understanding, choose not to push it, and finish off my drink. I suspect that there’s good reason Micah doesn’t discuss his past with me directly - it makes me wonder just exactly how nasty it was. 

“You want me to get us another drink so I can tell you about when I stowed away on a train for a week?”

“I very much do, you little reprobate.” He says, and hands me a dollar bill for the drinks.

Micah watches every move I make, and I like it, he’s the only person whose scrutiny makes me feel good rather than on edge. I go to the bar and make our orders; I don’t think we’ll be here much longer, even after all the time Micah and I have been doing this, it still doesn’t take much to make us need to have each other.

I make the order at the bar, and wait for our liquors to be poured.

“Fine lady like you shouldn’t be paying for your own drinks.” A man leans on the bar beside me, wearing nice clothes and a bowler hat. “Let me get that for you.”

“Actually, I-”

“No, no, I won’t hear anything about it, you put that money away, pretty girl.” He’s standing a little bit too close to me. A young man, fairly handsome, I suppose, but not one I have any interest in, especially when I know Micah will be watching this whole interaction very closely. 

“Sir, I’m quite happy to pay for my own drinks, if I could just-” I try to get the bartender’s attention, arm outstretched, but he blocks me off with his body and looks me up and down. He seems a little bit drunk, and doesn’t seem to notice my increasingly annoyed expression. Or care about it. 

“Look, just let me buy you a drink, okay? Ain’t seen anyone who looks like you come in here before.” He puts a hand on my waist, and I feel myself freeze, torn between batting it away and most certainly catching Micah’s angry attention, and telling him straight where to stick it.

When I open my mouth to speak, he shushes me, and his hand slips from my waist to my ass and squeezes lasciviously. My blood runs cold with shock at the horrible intrusion, and I feel the rage beat in my chest. 

“How fucking dare-” I begin, but I don’t get to finish, because no sooner is Micah’s hand on the man’s shoulder than he his clocked very hard across the face and falls heavily to the ground. I jump back out of his way, shocked, and Micah pulls the man up by the shirt scruff and punches him again with a meaty thunk.

“Hey! Take it easy!” Someone yells, as everyone backs up out of the way of the fight. If ‘fight’ is what it can even be called, Micah isn’t letting the groper up while he lands punch after punch on his face, his nose and lips bloody.

“Touchin’ someone else’s woman you little fuckin’ shit?” Micah sounds wild, enraged, probably more than I’ve ever heard him. “Fuckin’ kill you right here.”

I’ve never seen him fist fight before, and he’s just as vicious as I’ve been told. 

My shock wears off enough or me to realise that people are definitely running to get the sheriff, and Micah beating this guy to death in the middle of the saloon cannot end well. I catch his arm on its swing back, and do my best to hold it firm.

“Micah.” I say, hopefully loud enough for him to hear my voice over his rage. “He gets the message.”

For a beat, he tries to pull his arm out of my grip, but then he looks at me; it seems to take him a minute to recognise me, but he loosens his hold on the man’s shirt and lets me step between them and put my hands firmly on his chest. “We have to go.” I say, making him keep his eyes locked with mine to ground him to reality.

“He touched you.” He says, voice harsh.

“And now he’s unconscious and we have to go before the Sheriff comes.”

“Get that madman outta here!” The bartender yells, and I don’t give Micah a chance to respond, I take his raw hand and pull him towards the door with all my strength, hope to god he can just leave it at this.

I’m stopped though, by one of the very lawmen we are trying to avoid, who has just walked through the swinging doors.

“What the hell is going on in here?” He yells to the room, adjusting his white hat.

“That guy beat the holy hell out of this one!” The bartender points between them, and I look back at the scene. It doesn’t look good, splashes of nose blood on Micah’s shirt, bruises on his knuckles and a man lying on the ground with his face beaten to a pulp.

“Woah, woah, woah, I’m sure we can figure this out.” Micah holds up his hands, voice changing from raw rage to light amusement.

“We can talk about it in at the jail, come on now.” The lawman grabs Micah’s arm firmly, and starts to tug him away. Panic sets in my stomach - I absolutely cannot explain to Dutch how Micah managed to get locked up in Valentine when we were supposed to be all the way down south, and why I had been with him in the first place. Why I had  _lied_  to Dutch about where I was going to be. 

“Sir, you don’t have to take him in.” He drags Micah out of the saloon into the night and I follow. I really hope Micah doesn’t reach for his gun, a dead lawman would not help anything. “Please, he’s my husband, things just got out of hand.”

“Can’t be causing trouble like that, ma’am, man could have died. Might still die.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” I say, thoughts racing with what I can actually do to stop Micah being locked up or doing something reckless, as I know he can tend to do in these situations.

The plan isn’t the best, but it’s the only one I can think of at short notice. I size up the lawman; he’s not very tall, doesn’t look particularly muscular. I pick up my pace so I’m facing them and he stops walking.

“Get out of my way please, ma’am, your husband can wait in the cells until we find out if that poor guy’s gonna wake up.”

“I just wanted to apologise, in advance.” I say. A confused look passes his face before a land a knee to his balls that sends him doubling over, enough so I can punch him with all my strength and knock him into the wet mud.

It has been a while since I’ve punched someone, so the plain runs from my knuckles to my wrist immediately, but I am glad to know I haven’t completely lost it. 

“Come on.” I say to Micah, who is looking down at the lawman with a stunned expression. 

We don’t have time, I take off running to the closest horse, Baylock. “Micah, come on!” 

His dark laugh follows me as we make a run for the horse, shouts ringing out as people realise what I’ve done. He gets on first and pulls me up after him; adrenaline runs through my body, pulsing in my neck. I put my arms round his waist and hold on for dear life as he sets off fast pace.

The shouts ring out behind us, with my fingers in my mouth, I whistle my horse to follow. Micah’s still laughing, whooping even, but I can hear the sound of hooves on the dirt behind us that aren’t just my own horse.

Heart hammering in my chest, I look back over my shoulder to see the lawmen following us on horses, 

“Fuck, Micah, we’re being followed!” I shout over the sound of the whipping wind and the gallops. My hair obstructs my face when I look back again, but I can see two men on horseback on our tail as Micah rides out of the town.

“I know, don’t you worry sweetheart.” He sounds entirely unfazed, kicking up speed and whipping round a corner so fast I feel like I’m going to fall off. My fingers dig into his leather coat and I press my forehead into his back, barely daring to look back.

We leave the road and ride into the trees, and I have to close my eyes because I have no idea how he’s a good enough horseman to avoid us smacking into a single one. 

The sound of those following us recede, until all I can here is the steady gallop of my own horse behind us. 

He rides for a bit longer, until we have definitely lost them, and stops up on a grassy hill somewhere near the river. The sun has set now, and the landscape is cast in the eerie white glow from the moon. 

“Fuck!” Micah yells when we finally stop, my hair a blown out mess and absolutely out of breath. “Fuck, that was good!”

Micah is hyped up in a way I haven’t seen him be before. We don’t ever go on jobs together, but this is what everyone tells me he’s like. Crazy, out of control. I’m still in a daze, so he lifts me down from Baylock and grabs my arms.

“Now that was fun.” He says, and laughs that chesty laugh again. “You were…” He shakes his head like he can’t find the words. “You were a fuckin’ dream.”

Micah puts his hand on the back of my head and kisses me hard, looping the other arm around my waist.

“I am hard as a rock, watchin’ you do that.” He puts his hands on my ass and picks me up, clearly fuelled by adrenaline himself given how easily he does it. I can feel that he wasn’t lying, pressing against me while my legs are wrapped round his waist.

“Don’t you feel good? Just goddamn  _alive_?” His voice is a growl.

He’s right, I do. My pulse is hammering and my knuckles hurt, but when I get my breath back, I do feel good, I feel great. Energised, excited, just the right amount of scared.

“Who knew you could throw such a punch?” He kisses me deep and I tighten my legs around him to press myself against his erection. “I - shit I gotta have you right now.”

Micah falls to his knees, and drops me clumsily on my back, making me laugh. He’s laughing too, breathlessly, as he pulls my skirt up to my waist and puts his hands on my thighs.

“We gotta do this more often.” He says, voice a rough grumble. “Like seein’ you as a bad girl.”

“I can tell.” I say, pulsing between my legs and nipples pressing against my blouse. It’s almost too much, I’ve barely gotten my breath back from the escape and he’s already looking at me like I’m his next meal. 

Micah pulls off my bloomers over my boots, wasting no time. I am fully aware that we are absolutely in the open, in the middle of a field in the moonlight where anyone could ride by, or spot us through their binoculars.

It feels animalistic, to have done violence and now to be doing this, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been so turned on.

So what if someone did see us? Rutting like hounds in the wild? I know, really, I should be horrified by the idea, but I’m not, I quite like it. 

Micah doesn’t immediately unfasten his trousers like I think he will, instead he bunches my skirt up around my waist, takes off his gun belt and lies on his stomach to put his face between my legs and my knees on his shoulders.

“Shit!” I call out into the open, and my hands scramble to grab handfuls of grass. He buries his tongue inside me, making an obscene noise, before sucking on my clit hard and making me moan desperately. My head falls back and my back arches so I press against his mouth. 

“That’s it…” He licks me a few more times before moving back up my body and working on his belt buckle. I shudder, desperately needing to have him inside me. I look at him, his eyes glazed and his chest rising and falling in deep breaths.  He looks so amazed by me, it makes me surge with pride.

With his belt and trousers open, he lays back over me and kisses me deeply. His hat is till on, ridiculously.

He teases the tip of his cock against me just for a moment before pushing all the way inside, and I feel winded, a shocked moan leaving my mouth at feeling of being so instantly filled.

“Fuck, fuck, you feel so good every damn time.” He says through his teeth. Micah buries his face in my neck and thrusts in and out of me; I knock his hat off with one hand and knot my hand in the back of his hair.

“So do you.” I moan, completely surrendering to the pleasure of the way he fucks me, harder and faster than usual. I cannot get enough, it feels so good. His hair is dry in my hand, I pull it a bit and listen to him grunt and groan in my ear.

Somewhere in my dizzy pleasure, I look over his shoulder at the starry sky, and wonder if this is actually the best I’ve ever felt. Micah makes me feel so damn... Special. He looks at me like he can’t believe I’m real and he touches me like it too. 

I might love Micah.

And  _this_  is how I realise I might love him. After running from the law, while he fucks me on the dirt with our horses waiting at the nearby tree-line. Micah puts a hand on my knee and spreads my legs wider so he can get even deeper.

“Don’t stop.” I whine.

“Ain’t gonna.” Micah grunts. “Wish I could fuck you every damn second of the day.”

“Mmm.” I moan, and I can already feel myself getting close; his voice is running through me, rough and lusty.

The heel of my boot digs into the back of his leg; his jacket arms must be covered in grass stains with the way he’s holding himself up over me.

“Micah, Micah.” I release a handful of grass to lift his head from my shoulder to make him look at me. I’m close to the edge, and I want to feel his tongue on mine and his moustache against my lip. He groans into my mouth, slurs my name, and it pushes me over, the climax hitting me hard, making me shudder. I clench around him, it almost makes the fullness too intense; all I can do is hold onto him as the pleasure wracks through me, while I pulse around him.

“Shit,” he curses. His forehead presses against mine and a hand reaches up to cup my jaw. Micah’s thrusts are stuttered, clumsy, so I know he’s close. “Fuck, I fucking love you.”

His eyes screw shut when he comes inside me - mine fly open, distracted from the feeling of his grip and his come filling me up by what he just said. He grunts out his release, cock hitting deep, and doesn’t loosen his tight hold on me until it’s over.

My breath is shaking and my heart hammers in my chest. I’m not sure if he even knows what he said. When he opens his eyes, panting, I fix my face into one that isn’t so shocked and give him a peck on the lips, my cheeks glowing.

“You tired out yet?” He asks, pulling out with an almost pained grown and fastening up his trousers. I sit up on my elbows and try to figure out exactly how I feel. Certainly not tired out - if anything, I feel more energised then I had before.

“Not yet.” I say, with a smile and a shake of my head. _‘Do you know you just told me know love me?’_  I want to ask, but I don’t. A man is liable to say a lot of things when he’s about to come, even if that had never come out of his mouth before.

“Good, me neither.” He chuckles a bit and finds his hat and gun belt on the ground while I pull up my bloomers and fix my skirt. “Saw a camp of O’Driscoll’s on my way here, not far off.”

“Oh yeah? And what about it?” I raise my eyebrow, he takes my hand and pulls me to my feet.

“Thought we could rob ‘em… Or just kill ‘em. Anything you want.” He seems to find it hard to stand still, not at all exhausted and wrung out like he usually is after we fuck.

“Why, you wanting me to go on a little tear with you?”

“Ain’t we already started one?” He grins, taking my hip in hand. “Night’s still young, sweetheart.”  

I consider him for a moment. It has been a long time since I’ve done this kind of thing, had this kind of wild night. Said wildness dances in his eyes and the smirk on the corner of his mouth, like he’s daring me. This is Micah’s favourite kind of entertainment, I can tell, and it draws me in, my soul be damned.

“You got a gun?” He asks, and I shake my head. Micah makes a small grumble of disappointment.

“Could borrow one of your revolvers…” I suggest, looking down at the two guns holstered in his belt. Micah looks surprised for a moment, and he considers me for a long time, that penetrative stare that I can hardly handle.

He takes one of the revolvers and twirls it round his finger, second nature, before nodding at me to hold out my hand. I do, and he places it in my palm; his fingers linger on my skin.

It’s heavier than it looks, as guns always seem to be, well-worn with a painted red skull on the grip and the words ‘Vengeance is hereby mine’ messily carved into the barrel. I run my fingers down the metal, reverently, almost, because I know what these guns mean to him and I can’t believe he’s actually letting me hold it like this.

“Pretty.” I say, sending him a small smile. Micah is watching me very closely, a look on his face I can’t quite place.

“You-“ He clears his throat, which sounds a bit dry. “You look good holdin’ it.”

I breathe out a small laugh, even though he sounds very sincere, and to break the tension in the air, I pose with it, holding it out with my arm outstretched and pointing it at the tree-line with one eye shut.

“Do I look like Black Belle?” I ask, thinking about that cigarette card I’d seen a while back.

Micah looks at me for another long moment again, before shaking his head.

“No, sweetheart, you look like a whole other level of trouble.” His voice is a low rumble, and even in the dark, I can see the intensity with which he looks at me. 

I lick my lips before bringing the revolver to my lips and gently kissing the tip of the barrel. In the feet between us I hear the shaky, raspy breath he breathes. “You love trouble.” I say. 

After another beat, he steps closer to me, but doesn’t touch me again yet.

“I absolutely fuckin’ do.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments on previous chapters! Let me know if you'd like to see more of these two.

**Author's Note:**

> This was longer than I ever intended it to be. Comments and kudos are always super appreciated!
> 
> Follow me at my RDR2 tumblr, I may take requests: johnmarstoned.tumblr.com


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